Brede Circular – 10.7 miles

  Then suddenly here we are, at the end of the summer. For our last adventure of the season, we had saved a new route found on the OS app. Beginning in Brede and heading to Staplecross and back (to places we have greatly enjoyed walking previously), this was on paper the perfect walk to reward ourselves with at the end of an intense year of walking.

  We parked up outside Brede church, which sits high up on a hill overlooking fantastic views. We stepped out into a day which was at once both sunny and warm and yet somehow windy and chilly, which would quickly become one of the biggest challenges. It was also almost midday by the time we headed off, which was a much later start than normal.

  The first stretch saw us heading back along a familiar country lane, which on this day was teaming with large dragonflies filling the air above our heads! It had also made up part of this summer’s first walk. That day was most notable for a small cow incident, and indeed we were pleased to get the opportunity to wave at our old friends as we passed, who all seemed significantly more relaxed than they had three months previously. From there, it was on to untrod territory, which took us through typical Weald farmland, with clear and easy paths lined with berries. The only small mishap was Beth somehow breaking a large metallic gate latch, which we were able to fix, and soon after we found ourselves making our way through the day’s first yard. As we paused to adjust our layers, I looked around and realised that I had visited this particular yard before for work purposes, and had thought then that the countryside would make for good walking – so far, I had been right.

  After exiting the yard, we arrived at where the route said the footpath should be across the next field. However, the recently cut field hid its secrets well, as we had to do our best to guess where the path was, which continued through a small patch of wildflowers, followed by a sunny swath of sunflowers. This led on to a small patch of woodland, where the path reappeared, before immediately disappearing once again. The route suggested straight ahead, but there was nothing but undergrowth to be seen. Instead, we used the app to navigate the paths that were actually in front of us, during which time a doe and fawn flashed through the quiet trees right in front of us. Fortunately, roads are fairly reliable, and so the next stretch of concrete was exactly where it was supposed to be on the other side.

  If I didn’t know that it was still August, I would have sworn that it was already Autumn. And not the beginnings of either. The blustery day was already damp underfoot, and the roads and paths were all littered with brown and orange leaves, which continued to fall before our eyes. Puddles were pooling, and in one or two places, the first patches of mud were already giving a familiar squish beneath our boots. We really were ringing the very last life out of what had been a brilliant summer, and we were now quite literally watching autumn arrive around us.

  We left the road down an open path running beneath a string of pylons, before leaving the wires behind and diving back into the forest. This large stretch of trees was soon revealed by a sign for a car park to be the Brede High Woods. Here, we turned left onto what was a rather long and busy stretch of road walking. The verges at the edge were rather narrow and a little overgrown, and we had to use them at regular intervals to avoid the constant coming and going of fast-moving vehicles. We deviated a little here when we spotted a path across from us that would take us away from the road, and according to the map it would soon enough meet up with the path we were supposed to take further along; why would we not? We crossed and dove into the bushes, happy to be away from the road. This was okay for a while, however what had initially been a slightly unkept path, steadily became increasingly overgrown. Eventually, the path was almost completely obscured by a mass of bushy leaves and thorns, the only sure sign of being on the right track coming in the form of a small bridge over a trickling stream. Fortunately, as the path began to climb, it did reappear, and the going became easier.

  We eventually exited the trees, and crossed a lane to climb over a stile into an open field. As we made our way around the edge, a large, grey sheep rose from the shadows, and stood directly on the path ahead of us. It stomped it’s hoof, just as a couple of his buddies appeared. One of these gentlemen was rather large and bore a pair of impressive curled horns. He too stamped his foot. We got the impression that they were at best surprised to see us and thought it best to give them a nice wide berth – I also picked up a large stick for an added layer of protection, just in case! They kept an eye on us until we were safely across the next stile, and only then was I able to discard our make-shift weapon. However, the unusualness did not end there. Immediately to our right was a small paddock of llamas, chewing and staring, whilst ahead of us we could see a noisy flock of white ducks. The path seemed to want to take us between their fenced off area and another set of wooden pens to the left. When we reached them, we were most surprised to find a series of pig pens, home to about half a dozen pigs, many of whom were happy to approach for some scratches. As if this weren’t enough, sitting quite happily in the middle of the path at the other end, was a goat. He was a very relaxed individual and seemed very comfortable, not moving at all at our approach, or even when we knelt down to say hello. Just on from him, we found another pen, which contained a few further goats – clearly, this was where he had escaped from. We had certainly not expected to encounter this strange menagerie on our walk, and left feeling both bemused and amused. As we turned our back to carry on, an unseen cockerel cried out to us a loud farewell.

  As we approached Staplecross, we emerged into another familiar scene. Before us was a barn, surrounded by a few fields in which, as evidenced by the poo we immediately spotted, were some cattle. These were not just any cows, however. They were none other than the cows from the infamous chasing incident last year, which had left us both with a very healthy respect for bovine kind indeed. Well, we were back, and as we headed out into the open, we scanned about for any signs. It wasn’t long before we spotted them. They were a reasonable distance away, relaxing together amongst some farming equipment. None seemed to spot us, and we made it through the metal gate and onto the safety of the farm tack without incident. Cows successfully passed – for now….

  We made our way through the farmyard, up the long driveway which eventually brought us to the long road into Staplecross. Here we stopped at our usual watering hole, The Cross Inn, which seemed to have had a makeover since our last visit. We each enjoyed a cider, however refrained from a second because the day had turned grey and windy. Beth had started to feel cold, and by the time we rose to our feet, the first specs of rain were in the air. In fact, we were doubly glad we had not stayed longer, because a few minutes down the road, the heavens opened for a short, sharp downpour, which would have soaked us had we still been sitting at our bench. As it was, we donned hats, coats and hoods, and carried on, the rain drying up not long after. Now, on both previous occasions, we had failed to find the path exiting the village on the first attempt. I was determined not to do it a third time, yet somehow, we managed once more. Even as we were doing it, I knew what was happening, but we did it anyway. Sure enough, we arrived at someone’s garden, no footpath in sight. We retraced our steps and walked a little further along the road to find the path, which in both our hearts we knew was the correct way all along – it will not happen a fourth time!

  As always, we did eventually find ourselves bursting back out into the countryside. The first leg of the second half of the route followed the same footpaths as the Staplecross Circular, which are lovely, but we both knew that this would mean only one thing. Sure enough, as we reached a stile, there they were, for the second time that day; the cows. Not only were we swinging past the dreaded herd once again, but this time much closer, and definitely within their eyeline. We gritted our teeth and climbed into their field; it was time to face our demons.

  The cows were close. If they chose to run, they would be on us in seconds. One great heifer stared pointedly our way. We began to walk along the edge of their paddock. A second cow noticed our presence, as did a third. We carried on, keeping a close eye on or bovine companions. The trio continued to watch our passage closely. And yet, no moos came. No movement in our direction. Not even any further reaction from the other, still-relaxing cows. We carried on along the footpath, which led us away from the herd. We began to relax, as the herd got further and further away. Eventually, the first cow to spot us looked away, and settled down into the grass. The herd, evidently, were totally unfazed. We breathed a sigh of relief and walked the rest of their field in safety. We left them to the rest of their afternoon, feeling as if we had achieved something. May we now pass cows with the respect they deserve, but absent of the fear which they do not intend.

  Relieved though we were to have crossed this particular hurdle, the day was far from done with us. Our next obstacle came in the form of a disappearing path, which initially involved climbing over some chains, and soon faded away beneath some small trees into non-existence. We decided to try ducking through the neighbouring bushes into the more open land to our left. There was slightly more of a path to be found here, but only slightly. We made our way through a scrubby length of ankle-deep thorns, by the end of which we were both bleeding. As we climbed over the non-existent stile steps at the eventual end, we found a sign saying ‘private woodland’ – whoops. We found ourselves in what seemed to be someone’s back garden, where a man and his dog were playing fetch. Fortunately, as we got closer, we spotted a clear footpath fenced in to the left, and so we gratefully headed down it. As we drew level with the guy and his dog, he asked if we had found our way through alright, and our quick chat revealed that there was some right-of-way dispute going on through the patch that had just cut our legs up, which certainly explained the previous ten minutes!

  By this point, it was gone three o’clock and we still hadn’t eaten our lunch. With time pressing, we plonked ourselves down beside a hedge amid a flock of sheep. The field’s residents kept an eye on us as they continued to graze, but weren’t bothered by our presence, and we got our food out to join them in some munching. All was well until I reached the bottom of the bag and reached a terrible conclusion – we had left my fork in the car. Thankfully disaster was averted by Beth, who tore me off a corner of her sandwich box, so that I could shovel pasta into my mouth (such a good wife). We relaxed here for a few minutes, enjoying a brief respite after what had been a challenging stretch, before waving goodbye to our lunchmates.

  Straight away, the route reverted to type. We dove into a strip of woods where the path quickly became heavily overgrown and spikey, spitting us out into the next field in the wrong place. Also in keeping with tradition was the long rising hill straight after lunch, and so we dragged our full stomachs upward. We made it to the top to be greeted by a magpie chirping from the hedgerow, which flew off as we made our way past a hilltop farm. Out the other side, the map and footpaths once again became unclear, and we did our best to make our way across the large open field correctly. We must have still gone wrong however, because when we exited the field over a small wooden bridge, we checked the map to find we should be somewhere over the adjacent hedge in the neighbouring field. We glanced over and couldn’t see an obvious track, nor could we see a way through nearby when we re-traced our steps. We decided to do what we could and head out to the road, which we could follow and rejoin the route a little further on. Fortunately, the lanes were quiet and it wasn’t a too much of a detour, and about ten minutes later we realigned ourselves with the route. Had it not been on the map, we would have walked straight past, as this too was massively overgrown. I tried to whack my way through to see if a path was visible, but I was quickly hit with a thick branch of thorns to the chest and forced to retreat. Looking on Google Maps, however, a path is visible, although perhaps not once it has been ploughed. The route then sent us through an equally overgrown stile through a hedge opposite. I watched Beth disappear and heard a few curses as she negotiated the awaiting shrubbery and then dove in after her. Overall, I have managed to have a relatively scratch-free summer this year. However, on this day I must have received more scratches, stings and cuts than the rest of the summer combined!

  Over into the next field, and sure enough the footpath was invisible yet again. We did our best, making our way across and skirting the edge of some more sunflowers, but took a couple of attempts to find the correct way out on the other side nonetheless. We were starting to feel a little tired by this stage, and the only saving grace of the long rise that awaited us next was that the path was, for once, clear. We headed up and climbed into a field occupied by two horses, who stared at us curiously as we passed them by. We carried on down a long driveway until we reached a road, which we walked along to another track to the right. I must have been getting delirious by this point, as I announced that there were some surprise lambs ahead, which turned out just to have been sheep that were far away. The clock hit five just as we passed by some more horses and through the final farm of the day, with the light turning golden. We headed up past a large herd of brown cows and finally back into Brede. We finally made it back to the church and the awaiting car, kicked our boots off gratefully and enjoyed the sight of the evening drawing over the same sweeping view which had started the day. Now, Beth almost never eats her crisps, and whenever we are driving home she shares them with me as I drive. She did so on this occasion too, and I felt it was important to include it on this occasion as this time she revealed that this was her favourite part of our walks – which is sweet!

  In the end, what we had hoped would be a reward for all of our efforts over recent weeks and months actually turned out to be more of a final challenge. In many ways, this was reminiscent of the old days, before the blog, when our walks didn’t always go so smoothly – maybe it was the perfect walk for the occasion after all.

  And with that, not only was the walk, nor even just the summer over, but our second year of blogging comes to an end too. At the start of year two, I had had this vague idea of beating last year’s numbers, in terms of both walks and miles completed. This idea really took root in the end, and I would like to take a moment to thank Beth for going with it. I know there were days when you would rather have stayed in and relaxed, but I really appreciate you being right by my side, chasing the goal with me. And in the end, I feel that it was worth it. In every season, we managed more miles and more walks, and in total the last twelve months have seen us go on 44 walks, covering a grand total of 312 miles – an impressive 63 more than the previous twelve months. But more importantly than that, I got to spend hours upon hours with my favourite person, who started the year as my fiancée and ends it as my wife. Just the two of us, enjoying each other’s company amongst the beautiful countryside we have both come to treasure.

  Twelve months ago, I asked what adventures the footpaths would lead us on across the coming seasons. Well, time has now revealed the answers, and I don’t even know where to begin to sum it up. You’ll just have to go back and re-read them all and remind yourselves! But what a journey it has been.

  I would like to conclude here with a slightly adapted version of a poem by Rudyard Kipling. The words of this historical Weald-based poet reflect those of our own hearts, and we first heard it on a rainy summer’s afternoon outside of Batemans itself, back in 2021. Below is a performance of said poem by my Grandad, which was read at our wedding on the 18^th July 2025.